Aramis no bouken - a sequel
by sfrost
Summary: This is how I imagined Aramis would find love after the events of the anime movie, Aramis no bouken (the Adventure of Aramis).
1. Chapter 1

There was a lot of noise coming from the main hall. Naturally, for it was an evening of celebration. A lot of wonderful things had happened in the last while: someone unexpected had come into her life, someone precious: the Marquis de Montsorot, Francois's father. Other than that, she had successfully recovered and destroyed a dangerous document written by the Mother Queen to her allies, which had the potential of igniting a bloody war. The day she had set out on her mission to recover this document, the Capitaine, acting out of concern, had finally disclosed her true identity to her comrades and sent them after her. A wise decision. Last but not least, Jean had found his mother after a long and agonizing search.

In her last letter to the Marquis, Aramis wrote to him about the success of their mission, having herself witnessed the destruction of this document. She also mentioned the happy news about Jean, given that his mother was to become a maid in the Marquis' household.

Meeting her, this Renee, who was supposed to be his only son's wife, his daughter-in-law and the mother of his grandchildren, was already one of the few happy blessings the Marquis had had in his life. Her letters filled him with warmth and she brought him back something he thought he had lost forever: Francois. What more, he would learn not too long after meeting her that she was, in fact, a musketeer in disguise. The only thing he had regretted thus far is not having had more of an opportunity to spend time with her, to know who this extraordinary woman, who had captured his son's heart, really was.

So, it was with great delight that, in response to her letter, he had taken advantage of all of this good news and invited her and her fellow musketeers, along with whomever they wished, to a proper celebration at his manor in Bearn. He would write to invite Treville himself and request a vacation for all of them so that they could have enough time to rest and explore the area at their leisure, given that some of them had never been in that part of France before. His only condition to this invitation pertained to their costumes: he had requested that they leave their musketeer uniforms in Paris, to avoid any potential trouble in a predominantly Protestant area. He had also extended his request in regards to Aramis such that the young musketeer would wear a dress at all times.

His proposition was met with great enthusiasm on everyone's part. Porthos was thrilled at the mere prospect of a vacation. "Think of all the new cuisines we will be sampling!" he had dreamily declared, drooling, prompting everyone to burst into laughter. Athos was in need of a repose and he was quite looking forward to exploring the history and the culture of that region.

On his part, this would be an opportunity for d'Artagnan to make a stop in Gascony and visit his grandparents on the way back. Imagine the glory of bringing with him the three most renowned musketeers in France who were his friends! Oh, the jealousy and the envy! But he also wanted them to meet the woman of his dreams: Constance Bonacieux. So, he had spent the last few days begging her in all kinds of ways to ask Her Majesty if she could accompany them. Eventually, Constance relented and the Queen agreed to let her off.

Everyone was excited to see Jean. He had stayed in Bearn with his mother since they reunited and mother and son were building a new life for themselves there.

Capitaine de Treville decided to accompany his musketeers only for a week of their month-long stay. He would be the designated chaperone for Constance. But he was also looking forward to a repose from his duties and mostly, to see an old friend.

Aramis wrote back to the Marquis with a mix of apprehension and excitement, confirming their arrival in a couple of weeks. In her letter, she countered with her own condition: that she leave Paris dressed as a man and designate the ball to be the first occasion in which she will oblige his request. She noted that she possessed only one dress and had no means of acquiring more, in an attempt to discourage the Marquis' hopes. The reply, however, came swiftly: he was more than delighted to receive them all. Oh, and, she needn't worry about the dresses anymore. She breathed a sigh of relief as her eyes rested upon that phrase in the letter. But just as quickly, her features changed and her eyes widened with sheer terror: she needn't worry about the dresses because he had quite a few elegant and exquisite dresses made especially for her and they will be waiting in her chambers, along with a skilled tailor. Only the best for the wife of Francois! For his daughter, as he had come to think of her recently. He signed his letter with the hopes that she would have no objections or ill feelings if he were to think of her and refer to her as his daughter.

The tears filled her eyes at this pure and loving sentiment. She clutched the paper to her heart and silently wept in the loneliness of her demure_. No, why would she ever mind? _

….

They rode towards Bearn in no hurry, stopping here and there on the road. It was also in a way, imposed on the young musketeers since they were accompanied by a carriage that carried Constance and M. de Treville.

They had arrived in the morning and the celebrations were to begin that night. The house was full of servants: dusting, cleaning, polishing, decorating. The Marquis welcomed his guests with open arms and a chipper countenance. The manor had not seen such an assembly for a long time. For about 8 years, to be specific. Although, that had been a preparation for an assembly that never took place: the arrival of Francois and his wife.

Each of them was shown to their respective chambers, Treville being personally accompanied by the Marquis himself. To her dismay, the two men seemed so engrossed in conversation that she did not get the chance she was hoping for: an in-person interview with the Marquis in which she would exaggerate her charm to convince him that his request was absurd and should be abandoned.

Alas, she was accosted by a cheerful young maid, who was none other than Jean's mother, Charlotte*! She animatedly guided her towards her chambers. She opened the door to a grand room with exquisite furniture, large sunny windows and an adjacent changing room. It took a while for Aramis' eyes to adjust to this grandeur. She couldn't help but think that in another life, that could have been the bed she would have shared with Francois. Their marital bed. The bed where they would have made love on their first night as a married couple.

She sighed and entered the room. A sparkle suddenly glowed in her eyes as they rested on an object that had been obscured by the door: an elaborate and big bathtub! And it was already filled with warm water, the steam rising from it like a glorious mist. Oh, and how good it smelled! Lavender, roses and carnations! She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the fragrance as much as she could. How she longed for a bath!

Her high was unfortunately unduly interrupted when a voice from behind her exclaimed:

"Wooow! Fancy room!"

She turned around to see Porthos standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips, examining every inch of her chamber. Behind him, Athos only crossed his arms over his chest, chuckled and shook his head at his friend.

"Ours are nice too, just not as…You have a BATH TUB?" he cried out, as he pushed himself into the room after having caught whiff of the fragrance.

Athos and Aramis simply exchanged a glance before bursting out laughing. It was just as usual. Except this time, she thought she saw a certain glimmer in his eyes, a hint of something that she had never seen before. It was probably nothing and yet it made her heart skip a beat for some reason.

Before any of them could say anything, Porthos grabbed Aramis and shook her by the shoulders. He then pressed his forehead to hers and solemnly asked, "Would you share your bath? It looks big enough, I can tell. I promise, we won't fidget too much. There's plenty of room and warm water."

"Porthos… I don't think…" she began but he cut her off.

"Remember, we saved your life. _We," _he gestured to himself and Athos, "saved you from Milady and helped the Marquis, hence why we are all here today."

Aramis looked at Athos, as if pleading for him to interfere as he usually did and save her from this awkward situation. But Athos stood motionless, curling his lips between his thumb and his index, trying hard not to burst out laughing. She inclined her head more in his direction. Oh, he understood what she wanted perfectly but Athos was now on vacation. And he intended on amusing himself as much as possible.

"You know, he _does_ have a point," he said eventually.

Aramis shook her head and shot him a dark look. He betrayed her. Porthos only smirked and then lowering his voice:

"Listen, Aramis, we know that as such is the case for many delicate females, if this is about nudity, it's not a problem. You've seen us nude countless times, you won't find anything new there, right Athos?"

Athos nodded.

Aramis blushed.

"And you know… we have seen _you_… you know…"

She only squinted at him then she rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. _This_ again. Yes, they had seen her breasts, alright! So what?! It's not like they hadn't seen women's breasts in their whole lives. They see them every damn other night if not _every_ night. Ever since they had seen that nude part of herself, she was sure things would become utterly awkward. She was prepared to quit the regiment. Thankfully, however - maybe also rather unfortunately - trust Porthos to make anything and everything into joke. Which it did become. Albeit a private one. A _very_ private one, only between the three of them and only when they knew they were absolutely alone. Was it uncomfortable? Surprisingly not. If anything, she felt closer to them now than ever before.

She looked at them both. They wanted to play that game now, did they? Very well, then.

She placed her hands one on each side of Porthos' giant head, gluing his forehead to hers. Then, using the same mocking tone Porthos had used earlier she said:

"Well, you know, as the delicate female that I am, I do have certain reservations about…" she paused from dramatic flare. "About _smells."_

"So get _your_ and _his_ stinky odors out of my fragrant bedroom right this instant. I would never share a bath with your dirty behinds, clothes or no clothes!" she retaliated.

Porthos squinted at her and she recognized this look: he was ready to charge. And she was ready to wrestle him. Athos, not being able to contain himself any longer, burst out laughing.

"Come, Porthos, she's right, we c…" he stopped short by a sudden and shrill shriek. Charlotte, who had been fetching some towels from the antechamber, walked into the room to see a big burly man about to devour her mistress like a hungry black bear. His hands immediately dropped from Aramis' shoulders and he recoiled a few steps backwards.

The maid's expression quickly went from shock into rage. She whipped at him with the towel and chased them both out, "Ill-mannered pigs! Alone in an unchaperoned lady's room! And right when she was to have her bath! Away with you, you filthy animals, how dare you lay a hand on my mistress!"

Before the door shut violently in their faces, they caught a glimpse of their Aramis, slowly waving goodbye to them and blowing them a kiss with a smug look on her face.

….

The bath was absolutely heavenly. And a necessary repose to prepare her for what was to come: the dress. The ball. The dancing. Basically, everything that was not her life. Everything that was a would-have-been.

They all knew about her now. They hadn't extensively discussed it at-length. But they knew her story. Porthos had been joking about it. She was still one of them. One of the brothers. Despite her breasts, she was still a man to them. And to herself, for that matter. It wasn't the dresses she was dreading. It was finally confronting that part of herself that will inevitably change everything between them.

….

She spied them from atop the stairs. She couldn't help but smile to herself. They all looked different in their formal attire for this event. They were not in their uniforms but they were elegant and well-dressed in the latest Parisian fashions. They were all animatedly conversing and laughing. Porthos made no nudges and no snorts. He was on his best behaviour, she knew. The Marquis had invited people from all over the region and there would surely be some attractive young widow or a bored wife looking for a lover. She picked up her skirts with one hand, placed the other on the banister for support and began her descent. _Here goes nothing._

She had been too focused on her steps, fearing she would lose her balance and topple over, that she did not notice that the three men who stood at the foot of the stairs had their eyes glued to her. How could they not? She was simply divine.

The Marquis had selected a fabric of a royal blue color, trimmed with ivory white lace at the bodice and delicately embroidered with golden thread across the skirt. The sleeves were but a sheer fabric, that loosely covered her arm until the elbow, leaving the rest of her arms bare, accentuating her porcelain skin with the contrast. The sleeves only joined the dress right at the breasts, leaving her shoulders exposed, allowing for a subtle yet seductive cleavage. Her neck was bare except for the golden necklace with the ruby. Some of her hair was put up in an elegant up-do, but the majority of it fell in voluminous golden curls down to the middle of her back. She wore a subtle rouge on her lips and her eyes naturally glittered like two breathtaking sapphires.

Athos was simply stricken by the vision of Aramis in front of him. Porthos was unable to glue his gaping mouth shut.

But it was the Marquis, who, filled with awe to the point of tears, advanced towards her with trepidation as if she was a Goddess reincarnate. He took her hand brought it to his lips.

"Thank you for making me a happy man," he beamed at her and offered her his arm. She smiled at him warmly and took it. She glanced at her comrades just in time to see Athos frown at Porthos and nudge him to close his mouth already. She repressed a chuckle and winked at them both. They both inclined to her as she walked with the Marquis towards them.

She blushed at the gesture. It was a genuine incline, not a mocking one. Porthos grinned at her and Athos… Athos couldn't stop staring at her. He had penetrating gaze that was irresistible. She almost did not want to look away from him. She couldn't help but admire him as well. He was so elegantly dressed and he conducted himself with such grace and eloquence as was fit for a Prince. Despite her elaborate dress, she felt so nude and vulnerable under his gaze.

She was so lost in his eyes she barely heard what the Marquis was saying until Athos cleared his throat and looked away, prompting her to blush and catch the Marquis' last few words, which were:

"…and you and I shall open the dance, if you will honor me."

With that he led her away.

"We will _what_?" she finally found her voice. But they had already walked into the crowd and the Marquis did not hear her.

She looked back to Athos pleadingly. He only smiled and winked at her. As he and Porthos passed them by, he paused and gently placed his arm on her bare shoulder. She could feel an electric current spread through her entire body upon this contact. It was further exacerbated when he leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry. I'll come for you as soon as the first dance is over."

She looked at him wide-eyed, unsure of what this new sensation meant, afraid of the remote possibility that he felt the electricity in her body through his hand somehow, embarrassed that her body reacted in such a way to him, to Athos, her comrade, her _brother_.

Porthos pulled him away to say something and then he leaned back to her, "Oh and, Porthos says, try not to trip or step on the Marquis' toes. Don't embarrass us."

He winked at her again, they both chuckled and left her with the Marquis to greet his guests.


	2. Chapter 2

_A few months ago…_

They were galloping briskly on the route from Bearn to Paris. They had just left with the Mother Queen's letter, after an eventful encounter with none other than Milady herself; the very reincarnation of the devil: devious and immortal.

Athos glanced sideways at his blonde comrade. _Aramis was a woman… _Admittedly, a part of him knew it all along, so he wasn't all that shocked when the Captain announced it. His eyes instinctively traveled a few inches below her neck. The disguise was absolutely perfect. No one could ever tell. She also had just the right features for it. These androgynous and enchanting features with the golden mane; an angel amongst men. He finally understood the reasons behind that perpetual look of sorrow that often clouded these clear blue eyes. She had suffered a terrible and traumatic loss.

She turned and spied him looking at her. She blushed and averted her eyes. He couldn't wait to announce until they left. As soon as they rescued her, just as they were riding their horses to chase Milady, he uttered these words to her. The words she had been fearing for nearly a decade: "The Captain told us." She only nodded and mounted her horse. The conversation would have to wait until Paris.

She smiled at him now and gave him a challenging look before pressing on her horse a little bit more to go faster. She wanted to race him. She wanted to signal to him that nothing had changed, that nothing should change.

But something did change. He stared at her from behind. He had always shared a relationship of mutual admiration with the musketeer Aramis. In whichever way Athos was lacking, Aramis compensated and vice versa. Together, they were like one person. In character and in combat, they complimented each other perfectly. Aramis was his true partner. His equal, his other half.

Yes, Aramis was always quiet and reserved about himself. Athos knew there was some terrible dark secret in his past. Most musketeers lied about their pasts anyway. Yet he couldn't help but feel somewhat betrayed now that he found out. After all this time and after everything, it hadn't been the real Aramis he had shared it with. Rather, it was an assumed identity, an illusion. But wasn't _he_ under an assumed identity as well? He sighed and gently kicked his horse to catch up.

In agreeing to this impromptu race, he, too, wanted to believe that nothing had changed. But he could feel his body betraying him, as he regarded her slim and lean figure moving gracefully with the horse. Her legs gripping the animal tightly, her hair flying behind her like the sun's rays, her features that were concentrating with such determination on the road ahead. She was bewitching; a goddess in disguise.

….

When they had arrived at the scene, Athos was relieved to see his comrade alive and well. It was only on their way back to Paris that he realized that there was something off with her form. She rode with a slight arch in her back that confirmed his worries: she was hurt. It made sense; Milady and her accomplices were not the most gracious of hosts. They must have applied some torture to obtain some information out of Aramis and knowing Aramis, she would never relent, preferring to take the lashes of a whip even to her death.

All three rode in silence towards her demure. She had hoped that Porthos would propose a trip to the tavern so that she could excuse herself, so that she could peacefully retire and attend to her wounds in solitude. The sting had now evolved into a burning sensation. It was as if her entire back and sides were on fire. Athos kept a close eye on her and he nodded to Porthos, confirming to him his suspicions.

…..

As the door closed behind them, she turned to her comrades. She had hoped this conversation could take place under different circumstances. Under circumstances where she felt powerful in her own body. But right now, she felt queasy, nauseated, anxious and the pain kept throbbing with increased intensity by the minute. She was sure they had questions, reproaches, exclamations. She had prepared herself for this eventuality but not like this… Not tonight…

"Upstairs, so we could have more privacy," Athos said coolly. He led the way while other two followed him. She could feel her footsteps grow heavier as she mounted the stairs, throwing glances in front and behind her at the two musketeers.

When they reached her bedroom, Porthos moved towards the window and made sure it was closed, with the curtains drawn. He then inspected the room to ensure that no one could see or hear them. They both understood the great weight that the secret of Aramis imposed. They had also decided at the moment the Captain had revealed it that they would take it upon themselves to carry as much of it as they could.

Athos stood solemnly with his arms across his chest. She could feel his gaze penetrate through to her very soul. She abased her eyes.

"Undress," he uttered.

She regarded him with a mixture of astonishment and confusion.

A noise from the corner tore her attention from Athos as she witnessed Porthos leaning over a bag he had brought upstairs with him. Before she could see what he was rummaging for, she caught movement from the corner of her eyes, prompting her to look back at the sombre musketeer.

He was in the process of neatly placing his doublet on the chair in the room. Without looking at her, he rolled up the sleeves of his chemise and said, "Remove your doublet, if you please, Aramis."

It was Porthos who spoke, "We know you're hurt."

She could now see a pile of rolled bandages, two small clean towelettes and a salve, which she recognized as the magical balm of d'Artagnan's grandmother.

"I… I can take care of myself, it's alright," she stammered.

Porthos smiled at her, "Let _us_ take care of _you_."

She closed her eyes momentarily, letting this warm feeling envelop her. They wanted to take care of her. She had lied to them for nearly a decade and now they wanted to take care of her… She struggled to suppress a lump in her throat.

"Aren't you angry?" she said in a thick voice.

Athos grinned, "We are. But that can wait. Porthos, the water, please?"

Porthos nodded, and went to fetch hot water.

"Come, Aramis."

She held on to her doublet at the collar. The movement of pulling the garment pressed deeper onto her wounds, making her flinch.

Athos sighed and shrugged, "Very well then." To her surprise and amusement, he removed his shirt and tossed it casually on the floor.

"There. Now, could you please remove yours so that I won't feel so humiliated?"

Her gaze softened and she smiled at this unexpected gesture before turning around. She began to unbutton her doublet reluctantly while Athos sat on the chair, facing the wall, in a gesture to give the young woman some privacy. He heard a thump as her doublet fell to the floor. Under different circumstances, the sound of a woman undressing would have drove him mad with desire. He was afraid the same might be with Aramis, thankfully – and rather unfortunately – her disrobement was accompanied by gentle cries of pain that made him cringe.

He peaked at her just in time to see the bandage that held her breasts unwrap itself. It was stained with blood. How could she not feel that?! She had shown no sign of pain nor weakness whatsoever! He couldn't help but think back to the time she was shot on the way to Calais. In just a few days, she was back on her feet as if nothing had happened. _Remarkable…_

….

She sat on the floor, her arms crossed over her breasts protectively, as she held on tightly to her chemise to preserve some decency.

She was shivering violently from the pain and the coldness of the room on her skin. Athos placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her. She hung her head down allowing him to part her hair to the sides, away from her back. She was electrified at his touch to the point of completely numbing the pain for a few moments.

She could feel his fingertips tracing faint lines across her back and sides. She flinched every now and then when he got too close to a gash. He examined her closely, his breath caressing her skin, making the hair on her body stand up with anticipation. She instinctively leaned closer to him, so as to be in the warm aura of his body. Yet she couldn't help but feel ashamed at these thoughts, at her own vulnerability, at her own desire to wanting to be taken care of.

He dipped the cloth in the hot water and began to dab gently at her wounds.

"Arrghh!" she groaned.

Athos sighed, "It's slightly infected. I'll do my best, bear with me." How can nothing change between them? How could he not feel more protective of her now that he knows? How could he not cringe at the sight of a woman who had been tortured? Especially when it was _his_ Aramis of all people! How could his respect and admiration of her not augment?

How could he not react to this unintended sensual nudity? Yes, he was in the process of nursing her and attending to her wounds. Yet he couldn't help but admire her sculpted body. It was a work of art: from the muscles that formed it to the scars that decorated it. His eyes went down towards her lower back and he stiffened. _Good God, not now_, he complained inwardly. He could feel an all-too familiar pulsation in between his legs. But how could he resist? Even the moans that escaped her out of pain, served to fuel his desire more. _Shame on you, Athos! _He reproached himself.

"Athos?" her voice shook him out of his reverie.

"Mmm?" he replied, absentmindedly.

"_Pardonnez-moi_…" her voice was barely audible.

He stopped, letting the cloth sit in the hot water. His silence made her shiver once more. He watched as her head dropped an inch more. It was becoming evident to him that her pain and her loss were bigger and deeper than he had ever thought.

"There is nothing to forgive," he smiled, as he resumed his task.

"I…" she began but he cut her off.

"It is just as well that we found out. I don't know how you would have been able to reach this far back to care for your wounds without tearing yourself apart! Although I am sure you would have come up with something," he chuckled softly.

His fingers now moved to her sides, where he traced delicate lines with the cloth. She was startled as she felt his touch ever so close to her breast. She instinctively crossed her arms tighter, causing the skin on her back to stretch, eliciting a sharp sting which made her cry out in pain.

"Just… let go for a minute," she heard him say. Then, it all happened so quickly. He casually placed his hands on her forearms and uncrossed them. Her body simply obeyed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The chemise fell to the floor, revealing her perfectly round and firm breasts. She let out a cry of surprise.

Her face turned the color of beets. She glanced at Athos. To her surprise, he seemed unaffected by all of this. He continued his task with concentration and dedication. Another gasp escaped her when she felt his fingers right on the side of her breast. She tensed once more.

"Relax," he spoke softly, "If you keep tensing up, you will only hurt yourself. Just breathe."

The young woman took a deep breath and followed his instructions. She unclenched her fists and liberated her chest fully to give him access. His hands never moved anywhere they weren't supposed to go. They generously covered the sides of her breasts, however, as he delicately passed the cloth and then rubbed the salve onto them. She couldn't help but think that it felt… pleasant. She was fully relaxed now, she could almost…

"Hey, _les amis_!" a loud voice came from the corner, which made the two musketeers jump. Aramis grabbed her chemise, her body tensing to its maximum, causing some of the wounds to bleed once more. On his side, Athos accidentally knocked over the bucket.

He threw the dirty towel at his friend in ire, "For the love of God, Porthos! Announce yourself!" he reproached him.

"That's what I just did. Didn't you hear me come in? I made such a raucous in the kitchen," the large musketeer defended himself as he crouched down to wipe away the spilled water. "I'll get some more water," he grumbled.

"No need, I'll just use the…" before Athos could complete his sentence, Porthos slipped and fell forward on his two comrades, causing Aramis to drop her chemise and fall back into Athos' arms while the giant fell on top of her.

"PORTHOS!" they both yelled at him.

"Sorry! It was an accident!"

"Get off of me!" she lashed at him.

As he moved himself up, he looked down at her and smirked, "Nice breasts, by the way," he said in a low voice.

"AAARRGGH! GET OFF!" she kicked him in the shins, accelerating his motivation to move..

Athos, who had absorbed her fall, still had his arm encircling her waist. He couldn't help but look down over her shoulder. Good God… Porthos was right! He began to feel his member harden so he instinctively pushed Aramis unceremoniously off of him, tossing her carelessly to the floor beside him.

She glared at him and he shrugged, giving her a sheepish grin.

"So, topless dinner?" Porthos offered, as he removed his own doublet and chemise to match his comrades, "I brought plenty of food, courtesy of the Captain for a job well done."

Aramis, still on her back on the floor, rolled her head on the floor as she looked from Athos to Porthos before she burst out laughing at the utter absurdity of this situation. She lifted her arms to cushion her neck, exposing her breasts. She didn't care anymore. She felt right at home.


	3. Chapter 3

"Ouf!" she exclaimed as she plopped down on the bed. Nothing in her rigorous training as a musketeer had prepared her for the exhaustion after a grand ball.

For starters, her feet pinched and ached in places she never even knew existed. She tossed a glance at the silver pair of feminine shoes that landed in opposite sides of the room when she hurriedly hurled them off of her feet the moment she entered the room, out of fear that she would have to amputate her foot if she wore them even a second longer. They shimmered innocently at her. They were certainly elegant and in keeping with the latest fashion from Paris. Oh, but they were instruments of torture in disguise. She groaned loudly as she massaged her feet. She never thought she would miss her boots so much!

But it wasn't entirely the fault of the shoes. She did not get an opportunity to sit down once during the ball. Whether it was dancing, greeting guests or standing and conversing, she had been on her feet the entire night. It was not an arduous feat for a musketeer of her rank and training, but in those shoes and in that dress and in that corset… She groaned again.

Renée never cared for balls all that much. She enjoyed the preparations for a ball, but she always felt out of place. She hated the way men looked at her or sized her up for marriage. Balls gave her an icky sensation at the pit of her stomach: she felt exposed and vulnerable, as if she was a mule on sale at a market.

But then things changed when she met _him_. She began to look forward to these balls, to the discrete glances impregnated with love and desire, to the heated stolen kisses afterwards*, to the anticipation and excitement until their next meeting. She sighed deeply. How strange! It had been eight years and she still felt butterflies in her stomach as if she was sixteen all over again. She let her thoughts drift with this feeling of utter bliss, thinking of the man who stole her heart. _François…Francthos… Athos…_

_Athos?!_

She shot up like a bullet from a musket. Athos? Her comrade-in-arms, Athos? She could feel the sweat starting to creep through the thin fabric of her nightgown. She exhaled and hugged her knees to her chest.

_"Don't worry. I'll come for you as soon as the first dance is over." _He had told her when the Marquis whisked her away. He kept to his word. They danced together for the most part, as he discretely gave her subtle instruction on her dance technique. He remained with her as the Marquis introduced her to the numerous guests. Cousins, uncles, relatives, friends… The Marquis – with Renée's permission – introduced her as the widow of his son. Everyone present was looking forward to meeting this mysterious woman who had captivated François de Montsorot.

In spirit of keeping a low profile in this predominantly Protestant setting, Athos – to the grand surprise of his comrades – reverted to his own real identity, introducing himself as the Comte Olivier de la Fere. The Marquis later thanked him for his consideration. D'Artagnan was introduced as a nobleman from Gascony and Porthos remained, well, Porthos. But people, notably women, were too taken with his charm and personality that no one bothered to inquire further into his occupation nor his heritage.

…

She had never seen Athos like this before. He was almost a stranger to her; a man from another world and another time. Everything about him gleamed with nobility. His dress, the way he carried himself, the manner in which he addressed others, the way he inclined. He was soft-spoken, yet firm. His features exuded intelligence and grit. In a way, he was the same Athos she knew; her comrade-in-arms, her brother, her leader, her mentor, the man she looked up to. But this night brought her to a whole new level of awe in regards to this man. Every one was impressed by him and all the women had eyes on him.

So every time this magnificent man looked at _her_, she would instinctively blush. When he smiled at her, she felt her knees become weak. And when he held her hand or had her by the waist in a dance… well, thank God he had held her, otherwise, she would have melted right into the floor.

Until now, her nerves hadn't had the chance to recover, for he never left her side all night long.

She smiled despite herself, bringing her hand to her flaming cheeks, as she replayed the events of the ball. Alas, the moment would only last a few seconds for a sudden feeling of guilt crept up on her like a snake in the dark. The last time she felt like this was almost a decade ago. Back in her bedroom, after a ball, dreaming of this man she was going to marry. _François… _Yet here she was, eight years later, in the house where her fiancé had grown up, surrounded by his family, sitting on the very bed they were supposed to share as husband and wife… thinking of another man. _Shame on you, Aramis!_

She rested her head on her knees and let her tears flow freely until she fell asleep.

…

Aramis stared at the room around her. It was a spacious and luxurious room, more so than her childhood bedroom at the house of her uncle's. It would naturally be so, since this was no mere provincial manor, but a chateau of a Marquis. A fire burned in the fireplace, warming the room and giving it a soft orange hue. The bed was made up in the most elaborate and decorative sheets she had ever seen. The room looked exactly the same as it had when she first saw it, except that the bathtub was not there anymore.

She could have sworn it was there when she returned from the ball… She had specifically requested that for it not to be removed. She looked around her again in confusion. The paintings on the wall were different than they were this morning. The drapes around the bed were certainly different. They were white now, as opposed to the subtle red. How could there have been so many changes? The servants had been busy with the ball… How long _was_ the ball?!

She looked down to find herself in her nightgown. One thing she remarked, however, was that the nightgown was slightly more…elevated at the bust. She furrowed her eyebrows and brought her hands to her breasts. _Dear God!_ They were considerably bigger than usual! She rushed to the looking glass and there she was…

There _she_ was: Renée.

Before she could contemplate this any further, a soft knock sounded from the antechamber.

"Come in," she heard herself say, with a more feminine and younger voice. Suddenly, she was outside of herself – reduced to a mere observer in this bizarre play.

She didn't see him come in. She only heard his voice, which was enough to make her heart stop.

"How beautiful you look, my sweet Renée!"

_No… it can't be_. Her whole body froze in place as her heart dropped to the floor.

The stranger finally made his appearance into her line of sight.

He was tall and elegant, dressed in tailored pantaloons and a simple white chemise that hung loosely about his torso. His hair was slightly dishevelled, evidently from hurriedly removing some of his clothes. The light made him look surreal. His hair glowed rich in its reddish-brown hues and his grey eyes appeared a darker color.

She could hear the air coming out of her mouth, as every breath became heavier. He was there before her, standing in her bedroom, flesh and blood. _François…_

How she ached to reach her arm out and touch him… To caress his face, run her hand through his hair, to bring her body close to his, revel in his warmth and in his love. How she ached to tell him how much she had missed him, how lonely she had been since he departed… _Oh, François!_ She could feel the fresh tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

But before she could react, seeing as how paralyzed she was, she could only watch as the younger version of herself rushed across the room and embraced him with such ardour – a gesture she would have envied to death were it not for the strange sensation that it was really her embracing him. She could feel every part of him on her; his chest, his arms around her, his loving gaze and then… his fingers as they suggestively caressed her lips, paving the way for his moist lips that landed delicately onto hers.

She let out a sigh as he kissed her, a sound that became louder and more urgent as their embrace gained in passion.

"I can't believe we were able to hold out this long," he chuckled in between kisses.

Renée giggled.

"I can tell you, there were so many times when I thought I might lose control…" he added, as his lips found her neck and began to devour it. Renée closed her eyes, drew him to her closer and sighed under the weight of his kisses.

"Mmm… François! How I wish you had," Renée playfully reproached him. Aramis, who was watching, couldn't help but smile. How she _did_ wish he had! They had explored each other, pleasured each other – or rather, it was mostly _he_ who had pleasured _her*. _He had been too much of a gentleman to allow her to risk her honor, despite her numerous pleas and attempts at seduction. "On our wedding night," he would promise the disgruntled Renée with a wink. How adorable his fiancée was and how lucky was he!

Aramis' attention was drawn back to the two lovers by a gasp from the young woman, whose night gown glided down to the floor, courtesy of her new husband. He paused to admire her. Renée looked down, embarrassed at her utter nudity, her face a flaming red. But his eyes were alit with a desire she had never seen before. A desire, it became evident, he had carefully kept in check all those times they had been alone together. Aramis' heart began to pound. _Yes… yes… take her, make her yours… make me yours…François…_

The next few moments passed in a blur: she was no longer sure if it was her or if she was watching the scene unfold. It could have been both at the same time, if that was even possible. Their tongues danced ferociously, his clothes fell off, his grip on her waist tightened as he hoisted her up and dropped her onto the massive bed, not once taking his lips off of hers. He then proceeded to explore her with his tongue, with his hands; she could feel his hair caressing her skin as he moved up and down her body. He let himself loose on her like a wild animal who had been caged for so long. And she relished every bit of it! She could barely catch her breath as every touch, every lick, every kiss produced a new and more profound wave of pleasure that kept leading up to a dangerous point until finally…. She was in full ecstasies!

Without knowing how, he had positioned himself on top of her and, as if that moment, that very first moment of their bodies uniting was entirely skipped – to her disappointment – she was placed right in the middle of their lovemaking rhythm as he came and went inside her. She could hear his breath become more laborious with every thrust.

"Oh François… François!" she heard herself cry out.

"Renée… my Renée…" he answered her in between kisses.

"I love you, François," she breathed.

He looked down at her, smiling, slowing down his pace to kiss her, to reassure her of his love in this vulnerable moment.

"I love you, Renée…"

Their sighs and moans alternated between "François" and "Renée"…

"Mmm… oh God, yes, yes!" she cried out, feeling his rhythm change, intensifying, becoming stronger and faster.

"Do you like that?"

"Oh yes… don't stop!"

"Oh, Renée!"

"François!"

She opened her eyes to him once more when she suddenly noticed that his eyes had changed… the grey in them had turned into a dark blue. She traced her hand on his cheek. It felt rounder, the moustache was darker, and around his face, his hair fell in long damp strands of black.

But the gaze remained unchanged: there was that love in his eyes that gave birth to this carnal and ravaging desire. He let out loud grunts as he gave her a thrust that was hard and strong, which sent a most pleasurable vibration from her very inside to the rest of her body.

"Aramis!" he called out.

Then, she heard herself cry out his name as her body tensed jealously around his:

"Oh yes, Athos…Athos… ATHOS!"

….

Aramis woke up with a violent start forcing her to sit up in bed, clutching her nightgown tightly around her neck. With panic, she brought her hands to her breasts and breathed a sigh of relief. She looked around her. The room was bathed in the dim morning light that made its way through the heavy curtains.

The bathtub was still there. Her shoes and her dress from the ball were casually strewn around. She brought her hand to her forehead. _Disgusting!_ She was drenched in sweat, as if she had gone out for a swim and come back to bed.

There was no question of going back to sleep now. She splashed some water from the basin onto her face. She dried herself with a towel as she gazed into the looking glass, trying hard not to think of her dream. There was one thought, however, that she couldn't get out of her mind:

The poor Renée… how she had longed for her wedding night, how she had longed to make love with François, to unite herself with him. She never thought she would belong to anyone else, nor that she would share her body with anyone else. How ironic that, with all the events that had happened after his death, from her disguise, her revenge and everything she had done for _him_, for François… after everything, the first man to see her breasts was none other than her comrade-in-arms. And not just Athos, but Porthos too.

She shook her head and went to call the maid for a bath. Her eyes flit wide open as she saw a big stain of a colorless fluid on the bed, right where her crotch was. She blushed uncontrollably and covered the bed. Was that from François… or Athos? Either way, a bath was definitely warranted after this.

* I encourage you to read Joelle-Sama's story "Le péché de Noël " for an exciting story with Renee and Francois (:

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